


Words That Needed to be Said

by KarenHikari



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 00:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10231481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarenHikari/pseuds/KarenHikari
Summary: “I… it was my stepfather,” he started, ignoring Alec’s softly uttered ‘What?’. “He was, well… you already know he wasn’t the best person to have ever lived. He would, sometimes, when he felt particularly… disgusted by me, let’s say, he could… you know, beating me, of course, was easier, but… fire purifies…” he added quietly. “And fire was fitting to threaten a demon’s spawn.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! After a school-induce hiatus I'm finally back!
> 
> Okay, I want to begin by saying that probably half of this story makes no sense, but you know how much of a sucker I am when it comes to vulnerable!Magnus. Like, c'mon, just imagine this wonderful, gorgeous, strong warlock back to when he was nothing but a scared child -scared from himelf, from his stepfather, from magic- and tell me that it's not heartbreaking. C'mon, I dare you.
> 
> Imagine him learning to be aloof and to laugh of his own fear as he grows up because he's been told that he shouldn't be weak, because, if he allows himself to be, he'd lose the reputation he's worked so hard to get.
> 
> Now imagine him letting that tough acting fade away because this is his Alexander and tell me that's not true love.
> 
> Like, really, I get too many feels for this chip and I've sold my soul for them, please hang on with me and enjoy the ride to madness.

If Alexander Lightwood had learned one thing after the months he'd spent living with Magnus Bane, then that was to expect anything―not a thing was too bizarre when it came to his warlock and, in honor of the truth, there were occasions in which the son of Asmodeus was not even to blame for the odd situations they got involved in. As an example the time Maia had brought a recently bitten mundane to their apartment ―same who had then tried to change in their living room, causing a disaster― could be quoted.

That day, however, the reason as to why the atmosphere of the apartment turned tense wasn't a loose werewolf. In fact, it wasn't even Magnus' fault, even if it was indeed related to him. Perhaps, had Alec known better, he wouldn't have asked.

It occurred that, after losing a bet to Alexander the previous night, Magnus was trying to actually cook something for breakfast instead of simply summoning their food from the small restaurant down the street.

"Alec, are you sure this is how they are supposed to look like?" the warlock inquired, raising an eyebrow as he fumbled over a plate in which he had recently poured the supposedly cooked pancakes into.

"You are deliberately trying to do everything wrong to exasperate me and make me do the things for you, I know that," Alec answered rolling his eyes as she approached Magnus, who stared back at him with a guilty expression. "But, oh no, mister, there's no way out of this, you're cooking. Enjoy the experience."

"Well, at least I tried" the warlock chuckled, returning his concentration to the somewhat prepared pancakes he still had at the pan.

"My angel, Magnus, you're not even holding the pan correctly! Don't you know that you're supposed to put the handle facing to the back so that if―Magnus, did you burn yourself?" he trailed off, his bossy attitude shifting to a worried one immediately as he closed the stove's valve.

"What? Of course not," Magnus brushed off mindlessly.

"Magnus, give me your hand," Alec commanded, extending his right hand to him with a furrowed brow, not quite convinced with the warlock's careless answer.

"What?" Magnus inquired, dropping his gaze to his hands in confusion―that was when he saw it, the dark, long-scarred mark that ran from his palm, along his wrist and then went up until it reached the middle of his forearm.

And then it dwelled on him―it was that day.

"Magnus," Alec snapped, his voice strained with worry, successfully interrupting his boyfriend's train of thought.

"Alec, no," the warlock breathed out, raising his left arm in a half-hearted attempt to cover the mark craved into his skin.

Without another word, Alec reached forward and took his boyfriend's arm into his hands, gently turning the limb until Magnus' forearm was facing him; he then ran his index finger across the abused skin with tenderness.

Feeling panic raise up in him at the concentrated stare Alec was giving his old injury, the warlock flinched. He should have told Alexander, he should have at least considered speaking with him about it, explaining―but he had utterly forgotten. So many things had happened in the last year, from meeting Alexander to the war against Valentine and then Sebastian's uprising, that he hadn't… he hadn't spared a thought to the faded scar that sooner or later would reappear on his tanned skin. In an outburst of uncertainty, he tried to snatch his hand away from Alexander, but the Nephilim merely tightened his grip around his wrist.

"Magnus. Don't," he ordered, raising his gaze to meet the warlock's orbs for a moment before looking down again.

"I… I'm sorry," Magnus said in a thin voice, as if it were all his fault, from the old wound to the suddenly unbearable atmosphere of what they had both been calling 'their home' for the past months.

"What… what happened?" Alec inquired, not answering his boyfriend's apology and giving Magnus' heart a pang of hurt at how worried he sounded, how concerned Alexander was on his behalf. "Magnus, what happened?" Alec repeated, softer this time, as if his gentle touch hadn't been bad enough already.

Every instinct inside of him told Magnus that it was time to flee, to brush it off, to escape―that it was too late to conceal the mark. Oh, and that was the point of it all, wasn't it? That once in a year not all of his magic and not all of his power were enough to hide away the hideous scar that sullied his body. A day that he carefully marked on the calendar so he could remember to shield away, either by staying at home of by wearing long sleeves.

A day that he had forgotten that year for the first time in his life because of Alexander Gideon Lightwood, because of the way in which the shadowhunter's laugh made the painful memories fade and slip to the back of his mind, because of how, when he was with Alexander, the person that he loved, that breathtaking man, the person that was loved by Alexander simply couldn't be the same boy that huddled closer to the corners of a goddamned house in the hopes that, if he stayed silent enough, his stepfather wouldn't notice him.

"I… it's an old scar, Alec, don't mind it," he uttered, barely above a whisper. He wanted to say that it would disappear by the following morning, that the next day, when they woke up, his skin would be clean and smooth as ever and that they could continue to ignore the pathetic first years of his existence for another year.

Instead, Magnus dropped his gaze, unable to bear Alec's concerned eyes.

That was an old burn-mark, Alec could see. That wasn't the reason he found it so unsettling. Scars weren't uncommon to him, it was quite the opposite, instead―as a shadowhunter, he bore plenty of them. The problem was he'd seen Magnus shirtless and naked on a number of occasions, and while he understood that it was virtually impossible to stay unharmed during four hundred years, he was certain that he'd never seen that particular one he was staring at on Magnus's right arm. It was impossible not to notice something like that, you simply couldn't miss it.

"That I see," the shadowhunter replied at last, his voice think with emotion. "But that's not what I wanted to know. I asked what happened," he added slowly,

He was unable to resist that tone, Magnus found out. He was unable to stop the way his chest constricted and the pang of guilt that settled in his chest because how was he capable of keeping anything from Alexander, with a such a gorgeous inquiring eyes and caring voice?

Alexander Lightwood could have asked him to jump off a cliff and he would have complied. He could have inquired about Moctezuma's hidden treasure and Magnus would have felt ashamed for not knowing where it was buried. And as all Alexander asked from him was an answer to something he had the right to know, soon enough Magnus found himself explaining everything to the shadowhunter, the feeling of being exposed much more existing then than on the times he'd laid naked on the same bed Alexander did.

"I… it was my stepfather," he started, ignoring Alec's softly uttered 'What?'. "He was, well… you already know he wasn't the best person to have ever lived. He would, sometimes, when he felt particularly… disgusted by me, let's say, he could… you know, beating me, of course, was easier, but… fire purifies…" he added quietly. "And fire was fitting to threaten a demon's spawn."

Carefully, almost coyly, Magnus shot Alexander a last glance, seeing the shadowhunter's orbs dilate in horror before he turned to the floor.

"Oh, Magnus…" Alec exhaled, the scar on the warlock's arms suddenly forgotten as he let go of the limb, same that laxly fell to Magnus' side, the shadowhunter's hands moving to cup his boyfriend's face instead, holding it in place so he could look at him in the eye when Magnus tried to turn away. "Oh, Magnus…"

It was ironic, Magnus thought vaguely, now that he had actually started to talk about it, he couldn't stop. He had to explain himself to Alexander, he had to make him understand.

"This one… that was from the night he tried to kill me," he continued, a small voice in his head telling him he wasn't being completely honest, as he'd said 'The night he tried to kill me' instead of 'The night I killed him', which was more accurate. He despised the first statement because it made it made him sound weak; he loathed the second one because it was true. With Alexander, however, it didn't matter which one he chose, because the shadowhunter was perfectly capable of understanding either of them.

"I thought he tried to drown you," Alec replied softly, gesturing the burn mark. Amused, Magnus let out the bitter parody of a laugh.

"He did. He went insane that day, Alec, I don't know… I don't know what I did", he offered helplessly, biting back the rest of his statement―I don't know what I did to deserve it.

"You didn't do anything. There was not a thing that you could have possibly done to justify what he did to you," Alexander replied firmly, his voice so certain of his words that the only thing Magnus could do was continue speaking as if he hadn't heard the shadowhunter.

"When I―when he died I fled the house. The house was on fire, too. It wasn't me who set the house on fire, it was… it was him. After he burned me and got distracted with the water he forgot that he'd left one of the logs of the chimney too close to the wall and the house… It was a wooden house, Alec, it didn't stand a chance," he paused, inhaling heavily. "And of course the fire had reached me too, but I didn't realize it until much later. I… tried to heal myself, but I didn't know what I was doing, I couldn't control my powers, it just… It hurt so much, Alec, I couldn't even think straight, I don't… I don't remember," he said, dropping his gaze in shame.

"Hey, that's quite alright," Alec assured tenderly, brushing strands of hair away from his boyfriend's eyes. "You don't have to remember." He didn't add that, perhaps, it was better if he didn't.

"After that, of course, it came the scar. By the time I knew what I was doing I tried to heal it, to make it disappear at the very least, but―I don't know, maybe it was too late or… I don't know. The most I could manage was to conceal it for the year, it only shows on the anniversary of his death."

"You mean the anniversary of the time that horrible man tried to kill you?" Alec inquired with a raised eyebrow. Magnus nodded.

"I should have told you," he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I… I forgot."

"You didn't have to tell me," Alec replied slowly after a heavy sigh, careful of his words. "I am, however, thankful and honored that you decided to share this with me."

Magnus nodded again, and a dense silence settled between them. It wasn't awkward, nor was it tense―it was merely a needed pause to process what they had said to each other.

Alec's hands remained at the sides' of the warlock's face, his thumbs drawing circles under Magnus' cheekbones in an unconscious motion―an anchor, an assurance.

It wasn't until a long while longer, after time had stretched to the point of becoming a foreign noun to them that Alec dared to speak again.

At first, he did so with a lump in his throat, not quite sure of how Magnus would react, not quite sure that the warlock would welcome his words, but knowing full-well that they needed to be said―either shouted or barely uttered, but said nonetheless, as they should have been four hundred years in the past.

"Magnus, what he did―it was wrong," he started, mentally cursing at his lack of ability at speaking. Speaking wasn't his thing; it was Izzy or Jace or Magnus the one who did the talking. Hell, even Clary was better at this than he was. But for once―for once it was Magnus who needed him to speak. "He had no right to do what he did and―"

"I was the son of a demon, though."

"And you still are," Alec replied, feeling Magnus tense under his touch. "But you are also one of the best people I've ever met."

"Alec, you don't understand, he… he was right."

"Right? Right about what?" the shadowhunter argued, barely noticing his voice rising in fury and rage, in impotence. "Magnus, you were a child, for the Angel's sake!"

"Still," Magnus muttered.

Alec inhaled deeply, numbly, feeling his hands let go of Magnus and fall to his sides.

"Alec―"

"No, no, you know what? I'm not taking any of this bullshit."

"What are you―?"

"I love you, Magnus, and I love you because you are strong, because you've raised above all of this and you've made a name for yourself, so quit saying that you deserved to be treated like dirt when you were seven because of who your fucking father was!"

"Alexander, you don't understand, you wouldn't know―"

"No, Magnus, I do understand. And you would, too, if you listened to me," Alec let out, in a voice lower than he'd intended. "You didn't deserve any of it―any of it, I just… none of it was your fault," he trailed off in a shaky breath.

"Alec, please…"

"No, Magnus, you listen to me for once," he said, in a voice too near to becoming a shout for the shadowhunter's liking. "Your father is the prince of Hell, so what? He's freaking Asmodeus, so what? You conveniently forget that my parents all but signed to a massive killing group, and you've never thrown that in my face and you've never let it come between us, so what should I care who the fuck your father is?"

"Alexander, that's different―Robert and Maryse might have not been the kindest of people, but they weren't―"

"What, demons? They were in their own personal way and we both know it," Alec argued. "You forgive too easily, as long as it's not yourself and that's not fair."

To Alec's words, Magnus nearly laughed, though it came out as a watery croak instead. Too easily? Back to when he'd killed his stepfather, half a century had passed by before the thought of him didn't make his blood boil. It had been nearly two decades and the thought of the Circle still made him want to stain his hands with shadowhunter in revenge.

Alec, however, continued talking.

"I've chosen you, Magnus, and I take all of you because I want to. I don't care about Asmodeus or about your stepfather or about the scar or about anything else, I―" he stopped, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat. He considered stopping, but then again, it would be worse if he only kept the words that needed to be said captive in a puff of air. "I love you."

There it was, Magnus thought, letting go of a shaky sigh. Three words. Three stupid words that he'd feared in Alexander's lips countless times during the months they'd been together, yet now they seemed heavier somehow, as if they were meant to tell him something else than just the poor definition of two pronouns and a verb.

It was just three stupid, pathetic words Magnus would have killed to hear directed to him centuries in the past.

And just like that, water was gathering at the bottom of the warlock's eyes, water that he was too prideful to let slip past his high cheekbones.

As if that wasn't enough already, Alexander then proceeded to pick up his arm once more, gently turning it until his scar was exposed again, his eyes focused on Magnus' un-glamoured cat-like orbs, silently asking for permission. When the warlock didn't argue against it, Alec leaned down to kiss the abused skin, slowly, tenderly, as if he thought it shouldn't have been soiled to start with. When he was done tracing the old scar, he stood on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Magnus' forehead.

"I love you," Alec repeated, his eyes boring into Magnus', and a single tear slipped from the warlock's left eye.

It wasn't just those three words, it wasn't the powerful combination of two pronouns and a verb―it was the sincere tone in Alexander's voice, the natural way with which he'd said it, as if the thought of loving someone like him ―of being loved by someone like that, too― wasn't anything short of repulsive.

It was pathetic, he decided, that a thing like that one transformed him into such a wreck. Instead of breaking down crying into Alexander's embrace as was his first instinct, he mumbled:

"My eyes," he said, almost sheepishly, not trusting himself to speak anymore and feeling stupid because how was Alexander supposed to know that he meant every single time for the first two decades of his life when he'd forced himself to vow his head in shame to try to hide his cat-like orbs, virtually the only thing that kept him from being normal on the outside before he learned to do a glamour.

Alec, however, didn't shoot him a confused glare.

"I love your eyes," he said, truthfully and the glint of his own blue orbs that mixed the exact amount of compassion and inquiry told Magnus that he had understood everything.

"And I love yours," was Magnus' lame attempt at a joke. It was true, nevertheless. Alec smiled.

"I know," the shadowhunter nodded. "And it would definitely do some good if we both remembered it more often."

"I'm trying, Alexander," Magnus offered, and he was. The only person he'd told nearly enough of his past was Catarina, and it hadn't been in one go. "I just… sometimes it's hard to understand why someone like you would want to stay with a broken mess like me instead of taking off to find someone better, like you."

"Do me a favor and don't repeat that around me," Alec replied and then, in a lower voice: "Although, now that we're coming clean… I get that feeling once in a while too."

"What?" the warlock inquired, feeling panic raise up in his voice at the thought of naturally, it was too good to last.

"Not because of you, Magnus, don't be stupid. I feel like that because of me," Alec rolled his eyes. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that you, exotic and gorgeous and amazing would want to keep up with someone gray and silent like me."

"Alexander―"

"No, I mean it," the shadowhunter cut him off firmly, but there was laugh in his voice and a mischievous glint to his eyes. "But guess what, who cares? Falling for you wasn't the wisest idea to begin with, and we both knew it, yet here we are. And unless you are planning on kicking me out I'm not going anywhere."

"I could live with that," Magnus swallowed. "With the thought of you not leaving, I mean."

"Good," Alec replied, staring up at Magnus in all of his cerulean-eyes and black-haired glory.

In all truthfulness, Magnus didn't stand a chance at stopping thee words that came next.

"I love you," he uttered, meaning every breath of air in those words.

"That's even better," Alec whispered, pulling Magnus down for a kiss, sweet and lingering. "Let's go out," he offered, once they broke apart. "You're not getting anything cooked and I'm hungry. Breakfast's on me."

"Someone is not very patient, it seems," Magnus teased him.

"If I turn around for a minute you'll just conjure something up, tell me I'm not trying."

"Guilty," thee warlock admitted, allowing himself to smile.

"No, for real?" Alec satirized. "Get your lazy ass going and go change because I'm starving," and he laughed, mellifluous and heart-felt.

Honestly, Magnus didn't even try to hide the soft smile that stretched across his lips as he followed Alec to their room, his left arm clinging to the shadowhunter's waist. Alec didn't seem to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is it. What do you think about it? I get it, it's weird, but I really, really needed to get this out and show it to you because I think it was beautiful in its own special way, okay?
> 
> Please let me know if you actually enjoyed it by pressing the "Comment" section and... read you soon!


End file.
